A Curse and a Gift
by Unhobbity Hobbit
Summary: A misguided young woman thanks Dean for his help in a somewhat unconventional way.


A/N: Written for the spnsummergen fic challenge and dolimirk

A Curse and a Gift

If you were to ask Dean Winchester if he wanted any kind of supernatural power, the answer would be a big fat no. Maybe with some hesitation if you offered x-ray vision, but still a no. That's why it was a good thing that when Christy (a girl with too many magic books and too little common sense) decided to 'gift' Dean with a power or two, he was already hundreds of miles away. This wasn't by her own design, she just ran out of sage.

"What the hell have you done to me?"

"I wanted to thank you for--"

"Thank me? _Thank _ me? Lady, if you wanted to thank me, you could've just said. Or heck, you could've paid me. You don't just spring something like this on a guy!"

"I just wanted to--"

"_Birds_! There are birds following me everywhere and I don't know how to get them to shut the hell up! Cats keep trying to trip me up everywhere I go and at least five dogs have had a good go at sticking their tongues down my throat. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Enjoy it?"

"_Enjoy it?_ No way, you undo whatever the hell it is you did."

"I can't."

"...What?"

"It's okay, though, it'll go away by itself in four days."

"Four _days_?"

"Well, about two days and twenty-one hours, now."

"Great. Brilliant. If I didn't already have a case I'd be coming straight back there and burning all your books, y'hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah I--"

"Didn't you learn anything from last time? Jesus!"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I--"

"Yeah, you better be sorry! And I don't want to hear from you or about you ever again, you got that?"

"Yep, sure, got it." Dean hung up.

"It was her then?" asked Sam from where he was sitting at the table, perusing the obituaries.

"Yes." Dean's tone was clipped.

"What did she say?"

"I've got three days before it wears off."

"Should we wait before we go after this ghost? I mean, we don't want any cats tripping you up at the crucial moment." Dean stared at Sam for a few moments.

"Shut up," he said before opening one of their duffel bags and settling down to clean the guns.

* * *

**Two days and fifteen hours  
**

Dean was tossing and turning in his bed, on the verge of giving up any hope of ever getting to sleep and just turning the TV on, because anything was better than listening to the endless cacophony of birds. They were waiting just outside the door of the motel room, ready to swoop down on Dean the moment he poked his head out. There were birds that should, by all rights, be asleep at this time of night and at one point even a woodpecker had a go at the door.

It was like the dawn chorus, but louder. And nowhere near dawn. It sucked.

"Can't you just tell them to shut up?" Sam groaned, lifting the pillow off his head enough to be heard over the racket. Dean stared in disbelief at the shadowy lump of his brother.

"You really think that would work?"

"No, but you've gotta try something. Something that's not shooting every last one of them." Pity, that plan was looking pretty good right about now.

"And you think the way to go about it is telling them to shut up?"

"For God's sake Dean, just do something before I go insane." Dean threw the covers off and got up, grumbling something about pushy brothers and stupid ideas.

Dean completely reassessed his view of what was loud when he opened the door. The birds upped it from just plain loud, to ear-bleedingly loud as they all descended upon Dean and tried to use him as a human perch. He flailed enough for the birds to realise that their human perch wasn't best pleased with his designation.

"Would you just shut up and go home?" yelled Dean.

Silence. Blissful silence. Had that actually worked? The birds had shut up and were flying off; going home. That was a yes, then.

A slightly stunned Dean shut the door. Part of him was boggling over the fact that he could apparently tell birds what to do. Most of him was just deliriously happy that he'd now be able to get some sleep.

"It worked?" asked Sam, just as stunned by the fact as Dean was.

"It worked." There was no further discussion, both brothers being far more enamoured with the idea of sleep.

* * *

**Two days and six hours **

"Dude, don't feed that one." Sam looked up at Dean, hand paused mid-throw.

"What?"

"He's a bully." Sam took a closer look at the offending creature that apparently didn't deserve the crumbs of Sam's muffin.

"It's a pigeon," he said, completely nonplussed.

"He's a pigeon and a bully." Sam brushed the crumbs off his hand and onto the table, not wanting to upset Dean just in case his temporary abilities had, in fact, driven him completely insane.

"How do you even know that?" Dean hadn't shown any signs of being able to tell what was going on inside an animal's head before, just that animals taken to following him everywhere. And would do his bidding, as had been evidenced the previous night. Dean frowned in response to Sam's question and gave a small shrug.

"Just do."

"So which one should I feed?" Sam gestured to the thirty or so birds milling around at their feet.

"The little dude at the back." Sam looked at his brother a few more moments before deciding that humouring him wasn't going to hurt anyone. And the one at the back really did look smaller than the rest of them. "Oh, hey, man, you remember that asshole?" asked Dean. Sam didn't.

"What 'asshole'?"

"The one when we were buying coffee."

"The guy who pushed in front of us?"

"Yeah, that asshole. Sitting right behind me." Sam peered around Dean and sure enough, there the guy was, sitting outside the café just like they were, talking on his cell.

"Yeah," said Sam cautiously. Dean grinned.

"Watch this." Dean beckoned for the little pigeon to come closer. It flew up onto the table and then carefully stepped up onto Dean's outstretched finger. Dean brought the pigeon closer to his face and whispered to it, glancing over his shoulder at the 'asshole' and then looking back at the pigeon. Sam hated to admit it, but he thought he saw the pigeon nod.

The pigeon took off. Dean watched it go for a moment, before surreptitiously turning his chair so he could better see the guy on his cell phone. Sam followed Dean's gaze and realised what was going to happen ten seconds or so before a great dollop of pigeon poo landed on the guy's balding head. Dean laughed and turned back to Sam with a wide grin.

"How old are you, again?"

"Oh come on, he deserved it!" Sam snorted and got up from the table.

"If you're going to use your powers, do something more constructive than getting birds to crap on people." Dean followed Sam towards the car.

"Hey, they're my powers, I can do I want with them!" Sam shook his head in disbelief. Just a day earlier Dean would have done anything to get rid of them. "Oh, dude, if you had hands, I'd totally high five you right now." Completely bewildered, Sam turned to see what the hell his brother was on about and found that he was talking to the pigeon flying overhead.

"For God's sake, at least stop having conversations with the local fauna."

"Dude," Dean gave him his most disapproving look, "The local fauna can hear you, you know." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Right, whatever, shall we get to the library and, I don't know, find out what's killing these people?"

"All right! Don't get your panties in a wad. Jeeze, I was just having some fun."

* * *

**One day and fourteen hours  
**

"Holy shit!" Sam was startled from his sleep by Dean's yell and flailed into some sort of position that could conceivably be called defensive. "How the hell did you get in here?" Sam blinked sleep out of his eyes and shook his head to clear it.

"W-what's going on? Dean?" He looked over to Dean, who was sitting up in his bed.

"What?" Neither brother was all that good at communication while half asleep. "Oh, no, nothing. This mangy mutt startled me is all."

"Mutt?" Dean didn't need to explain himself because said mutt – a collie of some description – trotted happily round the end of Dean's bed to go greet the other occupant of the room. "How did it get in here?"

"That's what I asked."

"And?"

"She didn't say."

"Well, she can't stay in here, there's probably someone looking for her." The dog's tail stopped wagging and she cocked her head at Sam.

"Yeah, I know." Dean got up and went to the door. "Come on, out you go." The dog paused before she turned away from Sam and walked dejectedly out of the door Dean was holding for it. They both watched her wander away and vanish into the darkness, a little sorry to see her go. But really, they couldn't let just any old dog into their room.

"You think we're ever going to get a good night's sleep? Your power's a pain in the ass." Sam flopped back down onto the bed and tried to recapture the comfortable sleepiness he'd had earlier.

"Oh yeah, like yours are any better."

"At least mine are useful."

"Yeah, well, I can use mine to get laid." Sam's mind went to a very bad place.

"What?"

"Chicks love it if their dog or whatever likes you."

"Ugh, just go to sleep, Dean."

"You asked."

* * *

**One day and eleven hours  
**

Next morning it seemed that the dog had decided to stick around. Indeed, Sam practically fell over her when he went out to get coffee. She seemed to take it with good grace; having a guy around four times your size tripping over you is hardly a walk in the park.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam called back into the room while the dog enthusiastically leapt up at him, seemingly caught between saying hello and trying to get through the door. Dean grunted; he hadn't seen the point of getting up before coffee had entered the room. "Your number one fan is here." Dean's next grunt had the feel of a question about it. "The dog."

"Just let her in."

"What if she's got fleas?"

"I'll tell them not to bite or something, it'll be fine. Now go, go bring coffee." Sam sighed and let the dog in. If anything happened, on Dean's head be it.

* * *

** One day and seven hours  
**

"People sure like to die here, don't they?" said Dean, surveying the disproportionately large cemetery. The cemetery that they were probably going to spend the next few hours checking anyone called Catherine for signs of EMF, since that had been all they'd been able to find out about this particular vengeful spirit. Not to mention that it was entirely possible that the ghost wouldn't be active in broad daylight and they'd have to come back at night and do it all over again. Would it really be so hard for a ghost to do a proper introduction with their full name every once in a while?

Sam, on the other hand, was more worried about the fact that it looked like they'd decided to take their dog for a walk through the cemetery when there was a perfectly good park just across the way. Which would be the logical explanation for why they had a dog with them. It was a much better explanation than the one where Dean had a supernatural power causing animals to love him, which meant that this dog had decided to tag along with them.

"Delta!" said Dean sternly to the dog, as that was the dog's name. Dean knew because she'd told him. "Don't you dare start digging things up!" Deltareluctantly moved away from the recently overturned soil of a new grave. No wonder Dad had never let them have a dog.

"Okay, so I'll take this half and you take the other?" Dean sighed and gave the cemetery another once over, clearly hoping that Sam would decide to give him a break and offer to do the whole thing while he got to know the locals better. Most likely just the pretty, female locals.

"Yeah, sure." said Dean eventually. They both took out their EMF meters and switched them on. Both machines immediately started squealing. Sam and Dean looked at each other, not quite able to believe their luck. They searched all around, but couldn't seem to pinpoint the disturbance; it kept fluctuating. At least, that's what they thought at first.

"Uh, Dean?" Dean turned to face Sam, whose EMF meter was screaming at a constant pitch. It was pointed straight at Delta. Delta looked at Dean.

"You didn't think to mention that sooner?" cried Dean. Delta's tail went between her legs and she lowered her head, looking most sorry for herself.

"Dean? What is it?"

"She's a ghost dog." Sam's eyebrows shot up.

"A ghost dog?"

"A ghost dog." Sam took a few moments to digest the information.

"You can talk to animals but you can't tell when they're dead?"

"Hey, you didn't realise it either!"

"I'm not the one that attracted her in the first place!"

"You played fetch with her for, like, an hour. And had a tug-of-war, using one of i _my_ /i socks."

"It's still you whose got the freaky animal connection!"

"Dude--" Their discussion was interrupted by a short, sharp bark. They both looked down at Delta. "You're sure?" Dean clarified on something Sam couldn't hear. Dean sighed and wiped a hand over his face.

"What is it?"

"She says none of these graves hold the remains of a ghost. We're back at square one." Sam nodded; it seemed like the kind of thing a ghost dog would know. Not to mention that it sounded about right as far as Winchester luck went.

* * *

**Three hours  
**

It had taken an entire day to find another lead. A girl called Cate had disappeared from her bed one night in the summer of 1938, thought to have eloped by everyone in the town. All Sam and Dean could think to do was to check the farmhouse she'd supposedly disappeared from, just in case it happened to be that she'd never left her home at all. Well, Sam was checking, Dean was greeting and having conversations with the livestock.

"Dean, come on." Dean was staring intently into the eyes of a cow, ignoring his little brother as usual.

"Do you know what cows think about?" Dean looked briefly towards Sam, then back at the cow, who was now chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful.

"What? Dean? No, I don't."

"Grass."

"Dean, stop playing Dr. Doolittle and help me find Cate." Dean looked up again.

"What? Oh, she's in that barn over there." Dean pointed off to an old barn that was clearly past its prime.

"She's...? How do you know?"

"One of the horses said there's a real creepy feeling around there and the dogs don't go near it." Sam decided to skip past the fact that his brother was interviewing animals for information and went straight onto the more pertinent question.

"So why are you talking to the cow?"

"Didn't want to seem rude," which was more consideration than Dean generally gave any human. Dean looked back at the cow and chuckled. "I think I'll take a raincheck on that." The cow lowed softly in reply and Dean patted it on the nose.

"Shall we, I don't know, get back to the murdering ghost now, Dean?" Dean strolled casually past Sam wearing the most infuriating smile.

"Sure," he said. Then added, "Jealous," quietly.

"Jealous? What could I possibly be jealous of?"

"That all these animals prefer my charm over your puppy eyes."

"It's magic, Dean. Your charm has nothing to do with it!"

"That's exactly what someone who's jealous would say."

"Oh, for God's sake," said Sam before striding ahead of Dean towards the barn, the sound of Dean's laughter ringing in his ears.

The barn was bare, except for Delta, who was already stood there waiting for them. She trotted up to them and nosed at them before turning and trotting back over the far side of the barn, glancing over her shoulder at them. Sam didn't need Dean's translation to know that she wanted them to follow her.

She showed them a spot in the corner that looked exactly the same as the rest of the barn, but felt distinctly cooler. This was where Cate was buried.

"What do you boys think you're doing on my land?" Startled, both of them swung around to find the current owner of the farm standing in the doorway aiming a shotgun at them. They raised their hands, just to emphasise that they weren't a threat.

"I thought you said he wasn't in," said Sam quietly.

"Musta got back." Dean replied, then continued more loudly so the guy pointing the gun at them could hear. "Uh, we got lost." Sam very nearly winced at how lame that sounded.

"Pretty bad sense of direction you got there."

"Yeah, we'll have to work on that. We'll just get outta your way, now." The guy stood back from the barn door so that they could hurry out, Delta growling all the way. Dean faced the guy, not at all put off by the gun in his face. "So, which way is out?" Sam wanted to cuff Dean over the head for that, and would've done if he hadn't been on the wrong end of a shotgun. The guy's face, though you wouldn't think it possible, became even more humourless. "Right," said Dean, realising he'd probably pushed it a little too far and he finally started on his quick exit.

The gunshot encouraged them to make their exit even quicker.

They leapt into the Impala and Dean pulled away before Sam had even got his door shut. Delta was gone, had vanished somewhere along the way. She never got into Impala, just disappeared when they left and reappeared at their destination. It was ridiculous how used to her the both of them had got in just a day.

"Another late night tonight?" said Sam.

"Looks like."

* * *

It was just gone midnight when they finally made their move on the farm. The night was quiet. It hadn't been this quiet since Dean was first cursed, or gifted, or however you want to put it. He was free of it now, anyway. He hadn't said how he felt about the whole ordeal (which wasn't surprising in the least), but he didn't seem as glad to be rid of it as Sam would have imagined he'd be. Even Sam was missing the presence of Delta, who'd faded away the moment the curse ended. 

But they had a job to do and no time to think about any of these things.

They quietly made their way across the barnyard, bringing with them the full ghost-burning kit and a couple of shotguns loaded with salt that they hoped they wouldn't have to use. And that if they did have to use them, that everyone in the house was a really deep sleeper.

Everything went off without a hitch until the moment they unearthed the bones (right where Delta had said they'd be) and the ghost of Cate noticed what they were up to. She was not happy to say the least.

Sam had just about managed to douse the remains in gasoline before he was thrown across the room, landing hard on the ground. Dean shot at the spirit – a woman with dark eyes and a tattered nightdress – and earned himself enough time to throw rock salt over the bones before she came back and threw him down beside his brother.

Dean raised his gun, but it flew right out of his hands and Sam's attempts to grab it as it flew by were weak. The both of them tried to climb to their feet but Cate slammed them back against the far wall. It was then that they realised exactly how Cate killed. They hadn't known before because the men had merely turned up dead, with no sign of what killed them. Technically nothing had killed them; they'd just stopped breathing.

Sam wanted to breathe, he wanted to breathe so badly, but there was something in his throat blocking the way. He looked over to Dean and found Dean's wide eyes staring back, mouth open and chest hitching, trying hard to drag air into his lungs but not succeeding.

The silence was horrible. They weren't even able to protest their own deaths, they only had the sounds of their hands scrabbling in the dirt for anything that might help them, and the sound of their own blood pounding in their ears.

Sam looked up at Cate where she stood, face blank as though she didn't even know they were there. She flickered once, twice and both Sam and Dean were able to drag in one gulp of air before their throats closed again. Sam looked to Dean, who looked back just as confused. Seeing that something had distracted Cate, Dean threw his lighter to Sam, who was marginally closer to the remains.

Cate flickered out again, for longer this time, allowing the boys two full breaths before she came back. Sam stumbled for the open grave, flicked open the lighter and threw it in. He looked back over his shoulder and saw, through Cate's burning figure, the slightly out of focus shape of a dog crouched protectively in front of Dean.

Finally, Sam's airways cleared and he was allowed to take the gasping breaths he'd been dying for a minute earlier. Dean came over beside Sam to make sure the bones were properly aflame. He patted Sam on the back before they gathered up their belongings, deciding to skip on the part where they waste time and risk getting caught by filling the hole in.

Delta was waiting by the Impala for them. She greeted them both enthusiastically, licking at any exposed skin she could find.

"Good girl," said Sam, leaning down to give her the attention she deserved. She had saved their lives, after all. "We thought you'd left us." Delta leapt up and managed to lick Sam right on the lips. Sam laughed and pushed her in Dean's direction. Dean had the back door of the Impala open and Delta looked at him curiously, tail wagging slowly.

"Well," said Dean, "Hop in." Delta barked and leapt into the back seat, immediately spinning a few times before settling down and making herself comfortable. Sam and Dean climbed in and they pulled away in silence, all of them thinking over the last few days.

"You know," said Sam after a few minutes, "Having a pet ghost dog is really pretty weird." Dean looked at Delta in the rear view mirror and shrugged.

"At least she's not going make a mess of the upholstery."

The End.

Hope you enjoyed!

Delta is named after a dog unearthed in the ruins of Pompeii who was stretched out over the body of a young child. His collar said that Delta had saved his master's life on three occasions: once from drowning in the sea, once by driving off four robbers and once by fighting off a wolf. The collar also said how Delta was devoted to his master's young son. Sounded like the kind of dog the Winchesters would like.


End file.
